


Metro

by gooey_world



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, College Student Peter Parker, Daddy Kink undertones, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Meet-Cute, Precious Peter Parker, Sleepy Peter Parker, Smut, Subway AU, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony stark is filthy rich, peter parker is a twink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-06 00:25:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16377917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooey_world/pseuds/gooey_world
Summary: Tony Stark never takes the metro, but Peter Parker takes it far too often.or:  Tony Stark takes the subway for the first time ever and a skinny boy falls asleep on him.





	1. Tired

**Author's Note:**

> look i just ship peter with everyone so dont hurt me

I'm about to get on the metro.  
  
I'm just as surprised as anyone else would be. I'm Tony fucking Stark, and I'm about to ride the metro. I'm a billionaire, playboy, philanthropist --I suppose I'll have to add metro-rider to that list of adjectives.  
  
Happy is usually so reliable, he really is, but a popped tire will stop anyone. He told me he'd send another car, and that it would only be a half hour, but that's where I stopped him. I hate waiting.  
  
So I took matters into my own hands for once, and I'd thought it would be humbling, maybe, to see what the average New Yorker has to go through. Instead, I smell urine and wish I was in my Bentley.  
  
The train is squealing loudly on the rails, and it lurches to a stop. I can't help but think of all the ways it could be improved technically, and my mind leaves the dim, graffitied station, and all I can think of is Mag-Lev rails and frictionless braking. I pull my newly purchased Yankees cap over my eyes for anonymity. It was a necessary buy for tonight's ordeal, and the Latino man who sold it to me blubbered something, so I gave him an autograph and waved him away.  
  
The train is dirty and outdated. If it were mine, all the metal poles would be polished to perfection, and it certainly wouldn't be this awful off-white. Maybe a sleek, electric blue coat of paint over these horrid stains. I take my seat carefully, watching for any crumbs or unknown sticky substances before I sit. Thankfully, there is none, and I wonder briefly if I'll have this row of two seats all to myself.  
  
But then the most tired-looking boy I've ever seen dashes in just before the doors shut. He carries only a backpack, and he's in a worn hoodie and jeans. His face is pale, and there are bags under his eyes, so my immediate guess is that he's a college student. He eyes the empty seat beside me and plops down into it, and I watch him close his eyes in pure relief and exhaustion. He opens them again and checks the displayed map for a moment, and his eyes dart back and forth over the different stops, and then his shoulders sink again, and I barely hear him murmur,  
  
"Last stop."  
  
I watch him from the corner of my eye throughout the entire metro ride. The train is loud, the brakes still squealing with every stop, and the beat from someone's rap music leaks from their headphones. It grates against my skin, it's irritating, all the noise, but the boy next to me seems to think it's the most comforting sound in the world because he's being gradually lulled into sleep. His head starts to roll back and forth as his neck muscles refuse to support it. His eyes open again, but they're half-lidded, sleep-heavy, and he adjusts the hood of his ratty sweatshirt so it supports his skull. He shuts them again, and I can tell he's barely conscious.  
  
I'm filled to the brim with an overwhelming urge to protect him. He's a kid, I'm telling myself, barely eighteen, by the looks of it, and that's why my arm twitches when his head rolls again. My heart hurts at his old clothes and his obvious lack of sleep. His smooth skin and soft-looking hair doesn't help either, and I can't help but think about how he looks like a fucking _twink_...  
  
And then it happens, the train lurches around a corner to the left, I hold tightly onto the cold metal seat, and the boy falls against my chest. I stare at him in surprise, waiting for him to get up and apologize profusely, but he doesn't move, and I realize he's completely asleep.  
  
Maybe if I was a better man, I would gently wake him, and smile and tell him it's all right that he fell asleep, and the rest of the ride would be long and awkward, but I wouldn't mind. Instead, I scan the few other passengers, all wrapped up in their phones, and adjust him slightly so that he can lean on me more heavily. I realize how _small_ he really is, he doesn't weigh anything, and my heart drops when I realize he must have the smallest food budget. He snores softly, and he looks so peaceful, so sweet, and I almost want to run my fingers through his hair and kiss his forehead.  
  
And that's when I realize how fucking creepy I'm being. I really need to wake him up, I'm a pervert for being remotely attracted to a kid, but I don't want to wake him up. If I don't do anything else, though, really, who could blame me for letting him get his rest? The boy obviously doesn't sleep, and he did say his stop was the last, so I'm really just taking care of him, I'm helping him by letting him nap on me.  
  
It doesn't matter, because our stop is next, and I realize that I'll have to explain to him in about five minutes why he was asleep on my chest, why I, someone _old enough to be his father_ , allowed that but I'm an idiot, so I procrastinate, and he keeps nearly purring against me.  
  
The train screeches to a halt, and there's no time left.  
  
"Kid," I touch his shoulder gently. "Hey, kid, it's your stop." He pushes his face adorably against my chest, delaying the inevitable, clearly still more than half-asleep. "Kid, you gotta-" He yawns, and Christ, he's cute, but he freezes in the middle of it, noticing that he's on top of a stranger.  
  
"I'm so- oh my God, this is so embarrassing. I'm so sorry, sir, I was so tired-" He gets off of me as fast as possible, flushing pink and gathering his backpack from the floor. All I can think about is how he called me _sir_.  
  
"It's really no problem, kid," I say, getting up from my seat. "You were warm." I blurt without thinking, and then I realize what I just said, holy fuck, the implications of that-  
  
"O-okay. Thank you, sir. Have a nice night." Sir again. Jesus. He leaves the train, and it dawns on me that I don't want him on the streets of New York, not when he's still half-asleep like this, and probably hungry, and _still looking like a twink,_ and my mind reels when I think about all the horrible things that could happen to a kid like him.  
  
"Wait-" I call out stupidly, and he turns, already nearing the stairs as I follow him. I have no idea what I'm about to say before I say it, but I'm past caring, I've already embarrassed myself tonight. He stares at me, waiting for me to say something, anything- "Look, kid, my driver is waiting for me a block from here. Let me give you a ride, I'm in no hurry. Where are you going?" I'm an idiot.  
  
He eyes me suspiciously. "No, thanks, sir, I'm fine walking, really." I wish he would stop calling me that so I could focus. I really am a fucking idiot. Of course he wouldn't take a ride from a complete stranger. And he hasn't recognized me, probably only because he doesn't expect me to be here. The mind plays weird tricks on us.  
  
I decide to surrender. "Okay, okay, I get it," I say, and I hold up my hands. "Just, take this. Please. It'll make me feel better." I reach for my wallet and pull out five hundreds. I press them into his palm, ignoring his look of utter shock, and fish around my jacket pockets for a pen and a piece of paper. This may be the dumbest thing I've ever done, but I'm too far gone to take it back now.  
  
" _What?_ I can't- I can't take this- why would you-" I ignore his confusion and scribble down my personal number with a simple Mr. Stark above it. I give him the paper wordlessly and turn to leave, but this time he calls me back.  
  
"Sir, wait!" I turn around slowly.  
  
"Do you really not want the money? It's obvious you need it." Pepper told me once that arrogance doesn't look good on me, but the kid might disagree. He blushes again, avoiding eye contact.  
  
"I just can't- Who are you?" His big eyes finally meet mine, and I hope the dim subway station hides my heart eyes. I want to say something suave, but he's too distracting.  
  
"You didn't even check the paper?" Is my weak attempt at a response, but he takes the bait and glances down. I watch him cycle through surprise, disbelief, confusion, and finally, he rests on awe.  
  
"You- you're Tony Stark- why are you on the metro? Why are you giving me money?"  
  
I can answer one of those questions. "My driver got a flat tire. It's fixed, now, though, and that ride option is still open if you-"  
  
"But why are you giving me money? And five hundred-" He says it like it's a Godsend.  
  
"Kid, I give you money and my personal number, which, by the way, is worth far more than five hundred dollars, and all you do is bombard me with questions. If you really don't want either, give me my number back and give the cash to the homeless. Otherwise, I'll be on my way." I turn to avoid his slack jaw, endless apologies, and questions, but I turn back for one moment to add, "You're lucky you're so cute." A wink seals the deal, and I don't wait for his blush before leaving for real.  
  
I step in the car after a short walk, and Happy eyes me in the mirror.  
  
"Why so cheerful, Boss?" He says it somewhat suspiciously. The subtext is clear, what did you do this time?  
  
"Had a nice time on the metro, is all."  
  
God, _that fucking kid_.


	2. Phone Call

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i couldn't leave well-enough alone i guess... this was supposed to be a one-shot,,,,,,

This meeting has been going on for way too long.

Then again, every meeting has started to feel that way, lately. I'm sure I look as bored as I feel, but it's all part of the Stark charm. At least I'm not falling asleep again. They yelled at me for that one, but just because my eyes are open doesn't mean that I know who's talking. Pep's taking notes, bless her, so it doesn't really matter.

And then my phone rings. Whoever was talking tapers off, and they all stare at me. I check my phone slowly, much slower than they all would like me to, and it's an unknown number. Who cares? I'm taking any excuse I can to get out of this meeting, and God must've sent me this sign to leave. _Thank you, Jesus_. I step out with a curt, "Sorry, I have to take this," and I add, "please, continue without me, I'll only be a minute," ignoring their venomous stares. I laugh silently to myself. They're just as bored as I was.

I answer my phone, which is now on its fourth ring. "State your name and business." I have to be straight to the point with my personal number, especially with unknown numbers like this. I'm careful not to say my name until I know for sure who is calling me.

My caller is not so direct. "Uh- Oh, I'm Peter. Wait, you wouldn't know that. Uh-"

"Please state your full name and business, Peter." A fan? I wonder how he got my number; I'll have to change it again-

"Sorry, I'm sorry, sir-" That's when I remember. _Sir._

"You're the kid from the subway, aren't you?" Holy shit! It's been, what? A month?

"Y-yeah! You remembered!" He's adorable.

"I don't give my personal number out to just anyone, kid, ah, I mean Peter. What took you so long to call?"

"Oh- I just, um, I had to think about it for a while... Sorry-" I get it. I'm much older.

"Don't apologize, that's fine. Let me take you out, yeah? That is why you called, yes?" I'm being so forward, but it's only because this is the most exciting thing that has happened to me in about five hours. God, that fucking meeting.

"Yes! Uh, I mean-" Christ, he's precious.

"Friday night okay? Text me your address, and I'll pick you up at six? Wear something nice, kid."

"Yeah, that's fine, Mr. Stark! Thank you!" Is it bad that "Mr. Stark" turns me on? I consider correcting him, telling him to call me Tony, but I _really_ don't want him to.

"No problem, kid. See you soon."

"Thanks again for the money, too, sir. It- uh- it really helped." He's so sincere, it breaks my heart. I'm almost distracted from that little _sir_ again.

"Plenty more where that came from, cutie. Bye." I can almost see his blush. I'm just ecstatic about my date, and it apparently shows when I return to the meeting. Pepper confronts me later about my giddy look, but I blow her off. She probably shouldn't know that I'm about to go on a date with a college kid.

Friday night comes around, and I wear a sharp-ass gray suit and drive my shocking yellow Porsche to Pete's dorm. I feel like impressing him tonight.

He comes out in what looks like the only button down he owns and seems absolutely anxious. He slides into the car with a look of complete awe on his face, and I watch him through my Ray-Bans.

"This- this is amazing. I feel under dressed, Mr. Stark." He tells me, with wide eyes.

"You should see my Bentley. And kid, you're never under dressed with me. They'll let you in anywhere, regardless." I put the car in drive and speed to the restaurant. It's a fifteen-minute drive, but that's without traffic, and this is New York. "Pick some music, kid."

We got to the restaurant in twenty minutes flat, which is fantastic for New York traffic. I parked my baby in valet, but not before giving the employee a thinly veiled threat and a massive tip. Peter didn't notice our exchange, thankfully, and I grabbed his hand before striding into the five-star Italian place with no reservation.

I've been through this thousands of times. I walk in, the receptionist is rude and tells me I can't be here without a reservation, and then I tip my sunglasses and the host gets flustered and finds me a table. Every restaurant I go to, every time I don't have a reservation it's the same thing. So instead of worrying about that, I tell her my name and watch the boy I'm here to see. We follow the host to our private room(I gave the kid my most charming, "after you," and he blushed bright red) and I order us both glasses of Bordeaux. Peter protests at first.

"Mr. Stark, I'm not old en-" I wave my hand, and he quiets.

"They're not going to card you, sweetie. Order whatever you want, and certainly don't worry about money." I want to kiss him. He looks so conflicted and utterly confused. The waiter leaves and shuts the door behind him, and we are alone, thank God. "Kid. What's wrong?"

"I-I- I'm sorry, Mr. Stark, I just don't understand why you're doing this!" Is he upset? How did I upset him already?

"Doing what, kid?" He looks near tears, and I swear to God I shouldn't be thinking about how wrecked he'd be after I've fucked him to oblivion.

"All of it! I can't afford anything on the menu, or anything that you're wearing, or-" Why is he so insecure? He's gorgeous.

"I don't care about any of that. Honestly, I don't. If I wanted a rich boyf-" _Fuck._ "Ah- if I wanted someone rich I wouldn't have picked a college kid I met on the metro. Peter, you're gorgeous, and I want to spoil you. I want to buy you things, hopefully, more than just this dinner in the future. I-" I look back at him, and he's relaxed a bit, so I'll call this a victory. "I want you to enjoy yourself, relax a little. Maybe afterward, if you want, you can come back to my place, and we can relax in a different way, yeah?" He looks nervous again. "But no pressure, of course. I want to get to know you a little."

"Okay," he says softly and sips the wine. "I'm sorry, again, I've just never done this before." My eyes bug out, I'm sure.

"With anyone?" I almost cough up my wine, but I control myself. "This is your first date _ever?_ "

He looks embarrassed. Jesus _Christ_ \- "Yeah..." God, that's so fucking hot. He's a fucking _virgin_. "Is that- is that okay?" Okay? It's incredible. I might even be his first kiss.

"It's fantastic. Better than okay. You have no idea." He looks confused, so I add, "I just- you're so pretty, I didn't expect it, kid." He blushes and shakes his head, but he really is a work of art. His soft hair catches the dim light in here, his eyes are wide and fucking adorable, his skin is milky and perfect, and he's so goddamn _tiny_ , I could just-

"This is really good," he nods to the wine and lets out the most adorable little hiccup.

"It better be," I say, grinning. "It's four hundred bucks a bottle." He almost spits it out, and I add, laughing, "Don't waste it!"

We talk, and I learn he's not just some college kid, he's a genius. He excels at physics and math, and he got into MIT, he just couldn't afford it. He's only at NYU because of his near full ride there. His professors seem to adore him, and it's clear why: the kid knows his shit. We order at some point, as he's telling me about his tragic backstory. He lived with his aunt after both his parents died, and then his uncle died, too. I learn later he works part-time and sends money home to his aunt because she's getting older and has trouble working. So he's gorgeous, a genius, and a fucking angel.

By the end of the meal, Peter is holding his stomach, so I pay, making sure as to hide the total from him. I've spent more on men, but it's been a while. I hold my arm out for him to take, and my heart surges when he takes it. We walk out to my Porsche, which has already been valeted back to the front of the restaurant. He looks nervous again when we slide into the seats, so I try to be more approachable.

"Where to?" I say, somewhat softly. "My place, or do you need to be back at your dorm?" I'm trying my best to give him an out if he doesn't want sex, or if he's too nervous to come home with me even without fucking. He pauses, apparently thinking about it. "Don't feel like you owe me something, Peter," I add. "Do what you're comfortable with, kid."

"No, let's go to your place," he says, and I swear it goes straight to my dick.

"'Kay." I put the car in drive and speed far too much, but safety isn't my biggest priority right now. We make it to my penthouse a block from Stark Tower in ten minutes.

I manage to make it to the elevator without doing anything dumb. All my employees are contracted into secrecy, but you can never be too careful when you're always in the media's eye. If a picture got out with Pete and me... Well, I'd prefer not to think about it.

And really, it's easy to forget about all of that when he's here, in the elevator, and we're blissfully alone. I move closer to him, and the sight of him here, cornered in the fucking elevator, brings out a side of me that I usually ignore. I reach out and grab his jaw, narrowing the gap between us. His eyes are wide, but if I'm reading him correctly, he's more aroused than scared. Still, I pause and let him close the gap. He does, to my relief, and the kiss is heavenly. His lips are so soft, so easy to take control of, so I do, pushing in with my tongue, biting his lower lip gently. It's so good, and his whole body responds. My hands roam his back, and God, he's so _tiny_ , even his waist is small after dinner. He rests his hands on my chest, playing with my tie after we break the kiss. The elevator doors open, I pull him into my bedroom, and I want him so bad.

We make it to the bed, and I'm still not sure how far he wants to go with me, but I'll take anything at this point. His size is what's getting me, so I pull him into my lap so I can feel his whole body. To my utter excitement, he spins around and straddles me so he can kiss me again. I tease him and go for his neck this time, and he lets out a whine before blushing and stifling it with his hand. Fuck, he's so hot.

"No," I growl near his ear, pulling his hand from his mouth. "You're gonna let me hear you, kid." I feel him getting harder with my words, and I suppose I guessed correctly that Peter likes to be ordered around in bed. Besides, he's so _pretty_ when he blushes.

He squirms after I've stared at him for a few seconds, so I start unbuttoning his shirt. Part of me wants him to be the only one without clothes as I fuck him, but something tells me he'd be far too nervous. Maybe some other time. I get his shirt off, and he's perfect, tiny, pale. I can't help but kiss his bare chest, and he gasps and moves again when I lick his nipple.

He gets tired of the teasing quickly and nudges me to take off my clothes, too. I do, tossing my jacket, tie, and shirts to a corner of the room. I don't know what I expected him to do, but I certainly didn't expect him to sit back on my lap and stare.

"You're really that into older men, huh, kid?" I quip, and he flushes again.

"I never really had a father-figure," he said coyly. "But I never thought I'd get to have sex with a... how old are you?"

This kid is going to kill me. "Forty-eight..."

He looks dizzy with the new information, so I kiss his chest again. He finally touches me, grazing his hands over my chest and down to my stomach. I pull back when his hands reach my belt, just so I can watch his agile fingers take it off. He unthreads it from its loops and drops it to the floor with the other discarded clothing. He looks at me, silently asking permission, but instead of granting it I flip us so he's on his back on the bed, his legs still loosely around my waist.

"I'm only eighteen," he blurts, looking embarrassed. I have no idea why; this is the most turned on I've ever been.

"Don't be embarrassed, baby, if I didn't like age-gaps I wouldn't have-" I lose all train of thought staring at him. "Christ, you're pretty. Look at you..."

"Mr. Stark, please..." Holy shit, my dick.

"Please what?"

He blushes. "Please fuck me?"

It doesn't take any more than that. I figure we've wasted enough time anyway. I undo his belt and pull his pants off for him, with mine soon following. I hover over him on the bed, with both of us still in our boxers, and he looks delicious.

What's next is a blur- we kiss, I cup his ass, which leads to fucking him open with my fingers, adding one at a time with a fair amount of lube. He's a moaning mess beneath me, a fucking virgin, begging me for my cock. I pull a condom on, and finally, it happens, after foreplay that went on far too long, I'm fucking him like there's no tomorrow, and he's so tight, he'll surely feel this tomorrow.

He comes way too early, but he's a teenager, spurting out of his small dick, and the sight of him flushed and sweaty, his eyes rolling back from how hard I was fucking him is enough for me to release, too. I come inside of him and we collapse on the bed, exhausted. Peter cuddles up next to me, and my heart melts. We lock eyes. In our giddy, post-orgasmic state, we both know this isn't a one-time thing. I kiss him again, and he leans in.


End file.
